


In Service to the Crown

by Ardatli



Category: The London Life (Roleplaying Game)
Genre: F/M, Goodbyes, Prompt Fill, Regency
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-17
Updated: 2016-05-17
Packaged: 2018-06-09 03:13:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6887305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ardatli/pseuds/Ardatli
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Harun padded silently down the hallway of his home, the tiles on the floor cool beneath his feet. </i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Service to the Crown

**Author's Note:**

> This is the last of my single-authored vignettes for the moment; I may or may not post some of the rp-fic later on, if the other authors are on board. 
> 
> Harun is the Moroccan Ambassador to England in-game. The prompt was 'Harun receives news of his assignment to England.' Safiya is one of his two (NPC) former concubines, who did not make the journey with him.
> 
> Based on characters from http://www.thelondonliferpg.com/

Harun padded silently down the hallway of his home, the tiles on the floor cool beneath his feet. The night breezes stirred the curtains that hung in the doorway to the central courtyard, and he pushed them aside with barely a thought. Torches still burned in the courtyard, the light reflecting off the water trickling through the fountain, the arch of the water mirrored in the curving swoops of the stone sides. Enough light to read by, though he knew the words on the scroll backwards and forwards by now. He sat on the edge of the fountain, glanced up at the stars in the night sky - they would look different there.  
  
A second set of feet had joined him; he didn't need to look up to know who it was. Only one woman in his household smelled of violets, moved like the wind. Safiya approached, her black hair falling around her waist and hips like a curtain, wrapped in a silk caftan; one of his gifts. One side slipped down her slim shoulder, and he put out his hand to slide it back up. An automatic reaction.  
  
"If you will not come to bed, will you tell me what it says?" Her beauty hid a keen intelligence, and he knew those large, dark eyes would be watching and measuring his every move.  
  
Harun frowned, passed her the letter. "England," he informed her, even as she read it.  
  
"You had been hoping for Spain," she commented idly, her eyes on the lines of script that marked the scroll. The distance changed things, and they both knew it.  
  
"The English king is ill and getting worse; they say there will be a regent in place by spring," Harun set his hands down on the cool stone, frowned into the distance. "It is the more prestigious of the postings," he spoke into the silence, "and shows more trust in me than I expected to see." He eyes flickered over her, memories of their handful of years together rising up unbidden. "I will be gone for a year, at the very least. I will not be able to take you with me. You, or Amina."  
  
Safiya regaded him calmly, her expression thoughtful. "A year is a long time. al-Sayyid Nayyir will have plenty of opportunity to ingratiate himself at the court in your absence. You will need allies here to keep you apprised; allies beyond your brother, as devoted as he is."  
  
"Safiya-" Harun hesitated, reached out and wound a lock of her hair around his finger, and gave her a small smile. "It would be better for everyone if I released you. Amina will go back to her father's house and gladly, I think- she is getting tired of me," he joked at his own expense.  
  
"She has no imagination," Safiya retorted with a laugh of her own. There was no love lost between his women, true, but they filled very different needs in his life. Amina was warmth in the darkness, comforting arms and tenderness; Safiya was a glittering star, a sharp-cut jewel with a strategic mind the equal of a man's. "If that is what you want-" her voice was pensive. "Basma has been looking for an apprentice. If you will buy my way in-"  
  
"A midwife?" The incongruity of the entire idea caught Harun completely off-guard, and he laughed. Safiya of the golden voice and gentle hands, tending to blood and babies alongside that ancient creature-? "I had no idea you had interest in medicine. How is it that you can still surprise me?"  
  
"Because," she answered smartly, and tossed her head with a smile. "I'm a woman. Besides; secrets come out at times of distress and fear, and childbed is the thing most of us fear the most." She tilted her head and smiled. "It is being said that the Sultana is again with child." An ambitious light flashed in her eyes and he understood. They were very much alike, in some ways. "I will send for Basma in the morning, and you can speak with her. She will take me on, and I will have something productive to do, once I no longer have a place here." Safiya stood, then, and held the letter back out to Harun. He took it, rising with her. "When will you leave?"  
  
"After _Ramadan_ ," he put out his hand and pulled her to him, pressed his mouth against her forehead. "We will stay through _Eid_ , and then begin to make preparations to sail. Safiya-" He would miss her. He didn't love her, but he would miss the conversation, the wit, the challenge she posed every waking day of her life. She was untamable, a hawk in flight, and that was her appeal. England would seem positively dull by comparison.  
  
"Come to bed?" she entreated, laced her fingers through his. "We should make the most of the nights we have left, _Ambassador._ "


End file.
